Brothers In Arms
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: TF2k7: In a world gone so wrong, who could count on old loyalties? Who could trust one built and programmed as a Builder, and seeded with Guardian protocols?


**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended._

**Continuity**: 2007 Movie-verse, Cyberton; set when the war was new.

**Characters**: Ironhide, Optimus Prime

**Warnings**: Dangerous amounts of WAFF.

**Author's Note**: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable. Inspired in part by the following verse of the following song (no, it's not a song fic):

_But you  
My brother in arms  
I'd rather I'd lose my limbs  
Than let you come to harm_...

- 'The Soldiering Life', by the Decemberists

--

They had been destroyed. All of them.

Ironhide looked out over the pristine skyline of Iacon, hued in gold and platinum and Autobot-blue. Far, farther than what he could readily discern, but closer than what others could admit, smog clouded the horizon, thick and portentous. It wouldn't be long until the traitors came knocking.

The Sentinel dropped his gaze down from the horizon, past the rails of the Prime's balustrade and down into the city proper, where life continued as usual, unaffected by the madness that had descended upon their kin. They thought themselves secure enough, for the present. There would be time for a warning; and who could take Iacon? Who could come over those shining, proud walls and take the City of the Towers? Their militia had gathered, drone-soldiers manufactured who paced the walls dutifully and stared into the blackness beyond their bright walls, where artificial light did not penetrate, and mechanisms died by droves.

Iacon was the last city standing.

That was something he and it had in common, he supposed.

It was a strange lunacy that had taken them to this last desperation, this fear-driven extermination. In a world gone so wrong, who could count on old loyalties? Who could trust one built and programmed as a Builder, and seeded with Guardian protocols?

And so, Sentinels – that line established by the Prime of the same designation, created to protect the cities when the Guardians were driven from their borders so very long ago – were gathered, the peace-keepers and city soldiers taken in for hasty reprogramming, to have their minds wiped or deactivated, against the chance of another betrayal, of a revolt in the city. They could not be depended upon; they were war-machines, liable to turn on the Builders in a moment's notice. Most went willingly, their sense of duty overriding their survival instinct – and such a strong, primal urge it was to flee, to fight, to preserve their lives and individuality. A few, a handful, had denounced their wards, and fled into the dark, taking their chances with estranged kin – succumbing as half-creatures caught between two opposing species, and pulled both ways at once.

Many who had undergone the reprogramming regressed, falling into the comfort that was their alternate modes, feeling safe and secure and slowly expiring as they withdrew completely into their conflicted minds. A few had gone mad and gibbering, due to sloppy work or glitches or fail-safes against tampering. These wretches were either put down or simply allowed to escape from the city gates, the bolts shut tight after their departures.

And Ironhide stood, the last of a proud few, Prime's bodyguard and escort, obedient in his kin's final moments. He would not flee this; he would face it unflinchingly and do as he was bid. As he was programmed to. He would go with pride, as a true, steadfast soldier must.

For what else was he, beyond his loyalties?

Behind him, the door opened, a soft hiss of hydraulics invading his solitude.

"Ironhide," The Prime rumbled, in that gentle, yet powerful way of his.

"Optimus," Ironhide replied evenly, giving no hint to his thoughts of the matter that weighed on both their minds, not willing to cloud the Prime's mind with doubt, not when he needed to be strong, so strong for everyone.

"You have heard?" Optimus Prime asked, and his voice was rich with sorrow.

Ironhide nodded once, quickly. "Yes," He answered, "I have."

It was easy to be loyal to the Prime, to swear allegiance to such a being.

Optimus had always been his responsibility, since his first activation. And he had fulfilled his role with competence and unwavering dedication to their cause. Had kept him from harm, this massive mechanism who was so strangely and conversely fragile; an individual who had compassion and respect for all creatures, even those who were undeserving of such consideration. Oh, yes, it was easy to regard him with wonderment, and reverence, as he was due. Easy to die for him, if needs must.

Still, he felt disquiet at the thought of what awaited him, the bothersome sense of doubt.

"I will do as you command, Prime," He gruffly said to the teeming streets far below, perhaps too quickly, something very like dread churning in his Spark. But he would not quail, and he would not falter, not in his final hour. He would not fail his charge, or bring disgrace upon his kind and their memory, as selfish others had done. "If it means my deactivation, I'll obey to the last."

But who will keep watch when I am gone? He did not ask. Who will honor the old codes, and safeguard you from harm when the traitors come for you?

"You have been a good friend to me," Optimus said quietly, his compassionate words reverberating through the still, tense air between them. "Dependable, and vigilant. Your allegiance has never been questioned, and you have never failed me in all the time we have known one another."

Ironhide swelled with pride, despite himself, at the commendation. It was good to know he had done well; had earned his leader's admiration. "I have done as my function dictates, Optimus," He said, soothed somewhat from his ignoble fear by this act of benevolence. He did not tell Optimus that he had valued their friendship beyond all things, that he would miss their talks, and his quiet nobility, or of his worries for the Prime's safety. He would not seed doubt for selfish gains, and would not inadvertently hurt Optimus by his admissions, so soon before his end. Surely someone would rise up, and keep his leader safe and well, until they met again in the realm beyond, where all Sparks went to rest. "Your word be done," He said simply, turning about to salute his leader, at peace with his fate.

Optimus looked at him with a sad fondness. He set one large hand on Ironhide's shoulder, kneeled down before him to put them optic to blue optic. "You are my most constant friend… and I would not lose you."

Ironhide gawked, feeling somehow off his footing. "What?" he croaked, a slightly strangled sound. Optimus Prime rose again, towering over him.

"This is our most precarious hour, I fear. You will be needed, old friend." He paused. "We are not warriors."

"But the Council—"

"The Council was unwise to decree such. They were afraid, and let that fear dictate their actions. I need you by my side in this," Optimus said gravely, his solemnity a tangible thing. Then, uncomfortable and ill at ease with himself, he blurted, "I don't think I can do this alone, 'Hide. Not against…" He trailed off the admission of weakness, unwilling to bring words to what had hurt him so.

Ironhide puffed up, still only coming to just below Prime's torso. "Don't speak such nonsense," The Sentinel groused crossly, snorting in dismissal. "Can't do it, feh. What drivel."

Optimus graced him with a bemused look, shuffling his feet uncertainly.

Ironhide looked up at him, proud to serve such a noble Prime, his brother in arms. "I will not abandon you in this," He said, with quiet, inarguable conviction. "You will not stand alone."

Prime smiled with reserve, grateful. "Thank you," He said simply. "Thank you, my friend."


End file.
